


accidents happen

by kinneyb



Series: short & sweet [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22981483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Geralt simply doesn't know his own strength.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: short & sweet [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603609
Comments: 9
Kudos: 537





	accidents happen

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

Jaskier grins as he presses the tip of his dagger to the exposed skin of Geralt’s neck, “I win,” he says, much too cheerily.

They’d been sparring for hours when he _finally_ managed to outsmart Geralt. They’d been sparring a lot recently, mostly because Geralt had been honest - for once - about how scared he was of something happening to Jaskier. 

So he had bought him a dagger and started to teach him how to defend himself.

Geralt reaches up and grabs Jaskier’s wrist, “I was going on easy on you,” he says, and Jaskier can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

Well, no matter. “Shouldn’t you be proud of me?” he asks, lowering the dagger and stepping back. Geralt turns and smiles, just the barest hint of teeth,

“I am,” he says. “You’re been improving a lot.”

“What can I say?” Jaskier winks, still grinning, “I have a good teacher.”

Geralt snorts, an ugly sound, and knocks their shoulders together, shoving Jaskier a few feet. He stumbles a bit before righting himself, his shoulder stinging. He looks at Geralt, almost expecting anger but he’s smiling still, a small, honest smile that dulls the pain.

Shaking it off, Jaskier shoves him back, “Loser sets up camp.” He says, reminding him of their deal. He tucks his dagger under an arm and claps. “Chop, chop.”

Rolling his eyes, Geralt turns and walks over to Roach, digging through their saddle-bags. Jaskier rubs his shoulder and winces. He knew Geralt had not meant to hurt him; the Witcher simply did not know his own strength. Geralt turns back around, and his hand drops from his shoulder.

+

The next time it happens they are sitting together around a fire, deep in the woods. Jaskier is sharing his newest ballad with Geralt, who is pretending not to listen. (But he totally is, and Jaskier knows it.)

He gets to a part about Geralt being outmaneuvered by a monster and –

The Witcher kicks him with his foot. Jaskier almost gasps in pain, barely suppressing it. His leg throbs. Geralt just looks at him, an amused quirk to his lips, “That’s not what happened,” he drawls.

Jaskier blinks, once, twice, thinking through the pain, “Oh, I know but a story about a hero is never interesting if he never loses,” he explains. Geralt rolls his eyes, never a fan of being called a _hero_. But that was how Jaskier viewed him. Flawed, but a hero. 

“Whatever,” is all he gets as a reply. 

Jaskier waits until Geralt is looking away to press on the sore spot of his leg. He flinches, rubbing at it. The pain mostly subsides, thankfully, and so he continues on his rampage, “So, the next part of the song goes – “

+

Jaskier isn’t even thinking of those incidents when he approaches the stream with Geralt. He’s just excited to be _clean_. He takes off his trousers first, kicking them off, before reaching for his shirt.

He gets it halfway off before he hears, “What the _fuck?_ ”

Jaskier finishes pulling it off and looks over at a bewildered Geralt, who’s stalking closer. He reaches out, pausing with his hands in the air. Jaskier looks down, confused, before he notices the bruises on his arms and, then, matching ones on his legs.

He grimaces. “It’s not – “

“Who did this?” he asks, almost growling.

Jaskier wants to lie, mostly because he doesn’t want Geralt – the big oaf – to feel guilty, but, “Um, you did?” he says, almost sheepish. Geralt’s hands fall, and Jaskier’s heart clenches at the look of utter disbelief on his face, “Not on purpose,” he says, scrambling to explain, “Just, um. Sometimes when you’re playing around, Geralt, you’re a little rough.”

Geralt is silent for a moment, too long a moment. Jaskier shuffles his feet. “Geralt?” he asks finally. Geralt jerks, like he’s been snapped out of a trance, and turns. “Wait!”

He pauses, looking back over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”

Jaskier watches as he disappears through the trees, wringing his hands. He sighs, defeated, and places his clothes on a rock, folded up neatly. When Geralt returns, he notices he has a couple vials in his hands. Stuff he saw Geralt use on himself often.

“Sit down,” Geralt says, and he obeys. He sits on a rock. 

Geralt crouches down in front of him and Jaskier pointedly does not think about how close he is to his dick, not at all. He watches as Geralt opens one of the vials and pours some of the liquid – thick and clear – over his fingers. “Um, just a question but _what_ is that?”

He also, smartly, does not mention that the oil looks suspiciously like lube.

Geralt reaches out and spreads some of the oil over his bruises with gentle fingers, “It helps with bruising,” he explains. “Should help them heal faster.” He finishes up with his legs and stands up, applying the ointment to his shoulders too. Once he has finished up there, he closes the vial.

Jaskier smiles up at him, small and sincere, “Thank you.”

“You shouldn’t be thanking me,” he says, frowning. “I hurt you.”

Jaskier stands up, a determined set to his jaw, “It was an accident,” he says firmly, “and I will not stand for you blaming yourself.” He grabs his arms and drags him to the water. “It’s my fault, if anything, for not saying something sooner.”

Geralt pauses right before the edge of the water and places the vials in the grass. He nods at one. “It’s for pain; you can drink some if you need it, but only tiny sips, understand?”

“Mhm,” Jaskier says, much more interested in watching Geralt as he undresses.

Both naked, they step in the water. Jaskier sighs, and notices Geralt is staring at him, an odd quirk to his lips. He puts his hands on his hips, “What?”

“Just thinking about how we wasted the ointment,” he remarks, eyes twinkling.

Jaskier looks down and cringes, “Oh, right.”

“It’s okay,” Geralt says, wandering closer. “I don’t need it much, anyway.”

Geralt stops near him and opens his mouth, closes it. Jaskier does not push, just waits patiently. “I will be gentler,” he says finally. “But you have to tell me if I hurt you, okay? Accident or not.”

Jaskier nods and steps even closer, “I will,” he assures him. “Now, need help?”

He smiles. “If you don’t mind.”

Jaskier winks and leads Geralt to a rock, where he sits with his back facing him. His back, littered with scars. Jaskier traces them idly with his fingertips before grabbing the t-shirt, worn and battered, that they used as a rag. He washes Geralt’s back, a small pleased smile on his face the whole time. Finished, he pats Geralt’s shoulder. “All done.” Geralt stands up and he takes his spot, smiling bigger. “My turn.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, entirely fond, and washes Jaskier’s back. He’s mostly quiet, and usually Jaskier wouldn’t question that but today was an exception for obvious reasons,

“You’re not blaming yourself, right?”

Geralt’s hands falter, pausing on his back. “I’m trying not to.”

“ _Good_ ,” Jaskier says, because he knows it’s the most he can ask of him, “because you’re not at fault for your own strength.” He wiggles on the rock. “Sorry I’m a little weakling.” 

Geralt snorts, “You are plenty strong, Jaskier.” He shrugs. “For a human.”

“Wow,” he drawls with the world’s biggest grin, “Thanks.”

**Author's Note:**

> support me and my fics!
> 
> https://korrmin.tumblr.com/writing


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